


Something smells....evil

by stormsonjupiter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale has some trust issues, BDSM, Biting, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley hates himself, Doggy Style, Dry Sex, First Time, Gay Porn Hard, Gay Sex, Hair-pulling, Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Minor Violence, One Shot, Painful Sex, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Sex, Scratching, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), aftercare kinda turns into praise kink, i ended up not using most of the gay sex positions i looked up but now i have more ideas for later, i literally looked up wrestling positions and also gay sex positions for this one, if my wrestling positions and gay sex positions don't make sense please let me know, it's really pretty normal position wise dont get excited by my earlier tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 05:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsonjupiter/pseuds/stormsonjupiter
Summary: This fic takes place in between episode 1 and 2, and helps answer the question of what Sandalphon smells when he and Gabriel enter the shop.PLEASE CHECK TAGS AND NOTES BEFORE READING, FOR THE LOVE OF SOMEBODY.





	Something smells....evil

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the thing. I kept getting comments saying that my smut was soft and tender. So I wondered if I could do something rough and hard. I don't know if I succeeded, but here's my first attempt. 
> 
> I do prefer soft, tender, a little silly or angsty, so if that's more your speed, check out my other works. 
> 
> There is hints of violence, and while this isn't rape, it is physically rough/painful.

"Something smells....evil..." Sandalphon noted with his nasally intonation. 

"Oh...that would be the Jeffrey Archer books I'm afraid," Aziraphale quickly replied, covering up for what he knew the angel was actually smelling. 

Sandalphon was not a fan of what the humans did in Sodom and Gomorrah, and Aziraphale felt he had to tread lightly. Because he was pretty sure that whatever it was Sandalphon was sniffing out, it was not an evil hidden among the tomes of a disgraced politician.

It was probably the lingering scent of the activities that took place the night before.

........

“Well then,” Aziraphale muttered, clutching his glass of alcohol tightly. “Welcome to the end times.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, but said nothing. 

The two sat together in pregnant silence, giving reverence to the gravity of the situation. The furnace inside the demon burned, anger and self-loathing filling his corporeal form to the brim. In contrast the angel felt cool as ice, his mind trying to snip away at any emotional tethers that bound him to the Earth, to Crowley, though the exercise was futile. 

The angel suddenly felt a cold, sharp pain in his chest, like an icicle stabbing himself through the heart, and he wanted to scream. 

But he didn’t scream. He was adept at not screaming. Instead he turned up his nose, lifted an eyebrow, and said in the most condescending voice that he could muster: “This is your fault, you know.”

A hot flash of anger tore its way through Crowley. His fault—*his* fault. Well of course it was *his* bloody fault, who else’s fault was it? 

“I told you he was too normal,” Crowley muttered contemptuously, trying to spread around the blame. If he was going down for this, he might as well try to drag Aziraphale with him (though he knew, deep down, that he could not). 

In that moment Crowley loathed himself more than he ever had. This mistake—his mistake—was going to bring about the end of the world, but more than that, it was going to tear him apart from his dearest, most beloved Aziraphale. 

Forever. 

Crowley threw his head back as he swallowed the rest of his scotch, trying to find solace in the drink as it burned its way down his throat. 

“I hardly think that you should go about blaming me, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied disdainfully, watching as the demon gulped the amber liquor and set the tumbler down. The angel then absentmindedly poured the demon a refill, his old habit of hospitality towards Crowley momentarily overtaking the very real emotion he was presently feeling, which was a deep, chilling anger. 

How could Crowley mess up something so important, so vitally important, Aziraphale wondered to himself. Then paranoia set in. Was this a game Crowley had been playing with him for the past eleven years, lying to the angel about the boy, posing as his friend and fellow schemer? He was a demon, after all, and as such, he would certainly be capable of so hurtful a plan.

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he stared at Crowley, letting his mind consider the possibility that this was all an intentional betrayal of their arrangement, something perhaps set in motion 6,000 years ago by the forces of Hell to prevent the angel from effectively thwarting the demon. ‘This must be it,’ he thought to himself bitterly. ‘Crowley has been lying to me, tempting me, pretending to be my friend just so he could ensure I not stop his master’s nefarious plan.’ He began to admonish himself for ever imagining that the subtle looks, the minor temptations, the helpful demonic interventions had actually meant something to Crowley. 

They had certainly meant something to Aziraphale, and for many, many years, he hadn’t been able to ignore the fact that he was deeply in love with the demon. And even in spite of feeling the chill of betrayal (which increasingly he believed to be real with every passing moment) he still was in love with Crowley. 

But Crowley, of course, had no idea that Warlock was the wrong boy. The millennia of looks and temptings and interventions were, due to the fact that he was wildly in love with Aziraphale. Eleven years ago, Crowley had come to the angel in earnest desperation, for he dreaded what would happen if the apocalypse should come about.

Specifically, what he dreaded the most was that he and Aziraphale would probably have to try and kill one another. And one of them would certainly succeed. 

Noticing the refilled tumbler and picking it up with clenched fingers, Crowley slammed back the drink again, this time with more vigor. He then felt a surge of anger and threw the glass violently against the floor, letting it shatter. ‘Fuck it,’ he thought. ‘Let everything shatter. Doesn’t matter anymore.’

“Crowley!” Aziraphale barked. The angel had witnessed the demon losing his temper a few times, but never like this, and never against his things. The demon of course had the power to fix anything that he broke, but this little display crossed a line. Aziraphale felt his wings unfurl by their own volition, as righteous anger flowed through his whole being, and his eyes started to glow with a blue celestial light. 

Crowley looked up, witnessing the threatening pose of the figure before him. He didn’t recoil—in fact, he felt his lips curl up in a malicious grin as flames of excitement fluttered in his stomach mingling with the burning hatred he felt for himself. ‘Well, if this is how I go, at least I’ll have a little tumble and go out with style,’ he thought sardonically, as his black wings stretched out into the visible plane.

“Shall we have a go, Angel?!” Crowley snarled through clenched teeth as he stood up, pushing his chair aside with such great force that it crashed against a bookshelf. 

Aziraphale gasped as an icy flash of anger made his body quake. He took a defensive pose, his eyes intent on Crowley. “Crowley, I’m warning you,” the angel bellowed, stretching his wings out so wide that they crashed into shelves, causing their contents to come falling down onto the floor.

The sight of Aziraphale knocking his books from their resting places without seeming to give it second thought ignited something inside of Crowley, a third kind of heat that wove itself together alongside his searing anger and self-hatred. He craved to see more, to see and experience the destructive power the angel could unleash. 

“Oh you’re warning me, are you?” Crowley mocked, and with great demonic strength, he grabbed the edge of the table and threw it to the side, letting it fall over and hit a bookshelf. With a loud crash, everything came tumbling down. Aziraphale watched as his books hit the floor, his eyes focused and angry, and his jaw clenching. He turned his head back to Crowley, whose chest was heaving and his tongue flittering out at the corners of his mouth. He was smiling devilishly.

There was now nothing that stood in between the angel and the demon. “Crowley, how dare you!” Aziraphale yelled, still not moving, but feeling a chilly desire to grab the demon, smite him, hold him, force him to his will, force him to love him, force him to…

Crowley sneered before lunging at Aziraphale, pushing him backwards into a larger bookshelf that was situated against a wall. Aziraphale heaved, as his head, wings, and body hit the shelf with a painful thud that caused a his mind to momentarily go blank and he shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was staring straight into Crowley’s lenses, which were mere inches away.

“I’m a demon, that’s how I dare. I’m not nice, remember?” Crowley hissed, Aziraphale’s lapels clenched tightly in his fists. 

Aziraphale let out a low growl, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream at Crowley, beg the demon to tell him why, why after so many thousands of years did he use him so, make him think that the demon actually felt something for him. But this urge was followed by the thought, ‘because he’s fallen. You are hereditary enemies. He cannot love you.’

And with that, Aziraphale pushed the demon back, using his wings to propel his motion forward, and they crashed onto the ground, arms, limbs and plumes tangling together in a fury. 

Azirpahale was on top at first, pinning Crowley down by the shoulders. Crowley let out a soft cry before slapping the angel’s arms away so that Aziraphale fell squarely on top of him. The demon used his wings to roll them over so that he now was on top, his glasses falling off in the process.  
He pressed his forearm against Aziraphale’s clavicle, holding himself aloft with the other arm. He used his knees to pin down the angel’s thighs, while his wings hovered over them. 

The heat simmering inside of Crowley, however, began to boil over as he stared down into the angel’s very pale and very angry eyes. He gasped, letting his guard down for a split second and loosening his grip ever so slightly. 

Aziraphale felt the demon’s power slacken, and he took advantage of it, sliding his hands around Crowley’s elbow and with some heavy moves, maneuvering the demon into a wrist lock on the ground. He used his whole body to pin Crowley down, slowly pushing the bones to the point of breaking. They stared at one another, eyes searing with anger at first, until the demon yelped in pain, which caused Aziraphale to pause.

And then, as he looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes, something else surged inside the angel. He was still angry at Crowley, still hurt at feeling betrayed, but his body craved to take out his frustration in another way. He suddenly, without warning or the ability to stop himself, pressed his mouth angrily against the demon’s. 

Crowley’s mind went blank with shock at the new sensation, but in a moment his own mouth was open and his tongue slid against Aziraphale’s lips until they parted. Crowley then slipped inside, desperately massaging Aziraphale’s tongue with his own, and eliciting a guttural moan from the angel. 

Aziraphale released the wrist lock, and instead pinned that wrist against the ground with one hand, while his other went to the other side of Crowley’s head in order to hold himself aloft. With a grind of his hips he slipped his knee in between Crowley’s thighs. 

In response Crowley pulled back from Azirapahle’s lips and let out a wanton moan, the heat in his abdomen suddenly surging farther south. His own hips swerved, and he gyrated against Aziraphale, feeling himself grow stiff in response to the contact. Oh, how he wanted this, and his body was crying out at the sudden release of 6,000 years of repressed desire. With his one free hand he grasped the nape of Azirapale’s neck, and let his nails scratch across his skin. 

Aziraphale pulled up and yelped, before looking down, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. He noted that Crowley’s eyes smoldered like yellow embers and he found himself completely enchanted, intoxicated, completely bewitched by the snake that writhed beneath him. 

Aziraphale, brought his lips hungrily back to Crowley’s and suddenly pulled the demon up roughly so that both of them were sitting, facing one another. With greedy hands Aziraphale tore at Crowley’s shirt, ripping it down the center with a series of grunts. Crowley growled and then responded in kind, and soon the buttons of Azirapahle’s waistcoat and shirt soon came flying off, scattering about the floor. 

With hands desperate and wanting, they each violently disrobed the other, pulling, tearing, and yanking fabric until it was in shredded piles. Normally, both angel and demon were prideful when it came to their attire—the former because of how well he’d taken care of the pieces over decades, the latter because of how they offered the freedom of aesthetic self-expression. 

But the clothes didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered, except the feeling of skin against skin, tongue against tongue. Crowley straddled Aziraphale while the angel was still sitting upright, and he licked and bit the celestial neck, covering the skin with red bruises. He dragged his nails over Azirphale’s back as though he was etching his lust into patterns on the angel's flesh.

Aziraphale took in the minor pains absorbed them deep within himself, feeling the hot anger of the demon as he scratched and bruised the angel, until finally the angel had to retaliate. He grabbed Crowley’s hair with tight fists and pulled roughly, until the demon stopped inflicting sting-inducing machinations against Aziraphale’s body. He rolled his head back in the direction of Aziraphale’s pull and he let his jaw slaken with a cry. Aziraphale stared at his open maw hungrily before meeting it with a kiss that soon turned vicious, biting and sucking lower lip until they were raw. Crowley sobbed into the angle’s vengeful mouth, wishing for the bite to sink into his skin further, and the hair to be pulled harder, needing the pain to go deeper and deeper until it ripped him apart. 

His hips swerved in snakelike patterns, rutting against Aziraphale while his back arched in continuously rolling motions. Their erections pressing and rubbing together were sandwiched in between their bodies. 

“Fuck me, Angel,” Crowley begged with a breathy whimper, and Aziraphale felt a yearning ache surge in his shaft. Under better circumstances, ones he imagined in the dark hours of the morning, Aziraphale would have tenderly showered the demon with affection, work in him slowly and gently to the point of mounting. 

But that was before the world was going to end, before he felt like Crowley betrayed him, before…before…

“Fuck me Aziraphale,” Crowley rasped again with teeth clenched. Crowley had scarcely imagined themselves together, intertwined in the heat of passion as they found themselves now. Though his human body often tempted him, his lusts and desires throbbing and stiffening during thousands of moments over the millennia, he never felt worthy of such attention, and so he shoved his wants aside. And now he was certain that he didn’t deserve it, deserve the pleasure and satisfaction from Aziraphale which he somehow was deriving now, in what he thought was going to be his last few moments on earth.

If there was going to be pleasure, there also needed to be agony. Crowley ached to feel the holy retribution Aziraphale had to offer. It had to be Aziraphale, It needed to be Aziraphale. Would that Aziraphale still had the flaming sword, but he knew his celestial energy could overpower him anyways.

Aziraphale suddenly had him on his back, and then on his stomach, and he moaned as he felt the angel heave himself atop his black wings. One soft but aggressive hand went to his neck and curved around to his throat, grasping tightly until Crowley gasped for breath. But Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to discorporate him by choking the life out of the corporeal form. He needed Aziraphale to extinguish him completely, down to his demonic essence. 

Aziraphale, meanwhile, felt tears well in his eyes as he squeezed Crowley’s throat. His other hand traveled downwards, grasping a bony hip and then pulling aside rounded flesh. Why, oh why was he such a fool, such a fool who hoped this creature who he loved so desperately could ever love him in return? But the demon was just a tempter, a being who lied, cheated, and hated Aziraphale. 

Chilly anger surged throughout his body until it found rest in his aching cock. He positioned it, removing the other hand from the neck and positioning it on the hip, ready to thrust the demon whose body was tight and unprepared. 

“Do it Aziraphale,” Crowley sobbed. Please…”

Aziraphale growled, and roughly plunged deep inside of Crowley. The demon screamed, feeling the stretch and tear of tight flesh give way to something long and hard. They still held like that for a long moment, Aziraphale’s mouth ajar feeling the warm tightness assuage his cock’s aching desire, and Crowley sobbing at the delicious agony he felt as the skin inside of him ripped apart. Aziraphale drew himself back slowly, and plunged in again, eliciting another sharp yelp out of Crowley. The drag was too dry, however, and he decided to miracle a little emollient, which caused both he and the demon to moan with pleasure. 

“Harder, Angel,” Crowley begged as he curved his hips up towards the angel and consequently pressing his own erection firmly into the surface below. He thought, momentarily, that he should probably want to touch himself, stroke his length while Aziraphale ravaged him from behind, but he didn’t care. He was too enraptured by the pleasurable, throbbing pain the angel bore into his backside. He wanted to stop doing anything, and let everything be done to him. 

Aziraphale’s thrusted more quickly after the miracle of lube, furrowing deeper and deeper inside the demon. He clenched a hip with one hand and pulled it to him with a rhythmic vigor. His other hand reached up to the wing and pulled a fistful of feathers—not plucking them out of the demon completely, but enough to elicit another yelp of pain. 

Aziraphale’s hand then made its way back to the fiery red hair, where he pulled again, this time hard enough to bring Crowley up from his prone position on the floor. He slid his other hand from Crowley hip around to his lower abdomen, where he hoisted the demon’s backside up so that he was now situated on all fours. 

“You’re no longer a snake, remember my dear? No more squirming at my feet.” Aziraphale rasped as both of hands went to Crowley’s hip bones, anchoring himself on them with fingers clenching tight enough against Crowley's skin to leave a flower of bruises on each side. 

Crowley squealed at every thrust, finding that this new position now caused Aziraphale to strike a spot inside of him that caused minor explosions of pleasure.

“F—fuck Angel,” Crowley panted, the explosions inside of him increasing in scale, until great surges of pleasure were filling his whole backside, his stomach, his groin, and causing his legs to shake uncontrollably. His mind was completely blank, forgetting the impending Armageddon and war, forgetting that he had let down Aziraphale, even forgetting that he was a demon. The only thing in existence now was Aziraphale, filling him to completion. He hadn’t even realized he was orgasming until his was in the middle of it, rivers of cum spurting from him in uncontrollable waves while his whole body clenched and shivered. He heard himself, as though from outside of his own body, shout the name Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale’s mind was completely blank as well, forgetting that Crowley was a demon and he an angel, feeling only the pleasure that he could tell his partner was experiencing at receiving his hard length. He pumped and pumped until he felt Crowley squeeze him tightly and heard his name echo from the demon’s lips. He then came as well, spendings erupting from his cock as his hips bucked uncontrollably. He filled Crowley, spasming over and over again until finally his pleasure had been completely drained. 

Both were panting heavily, and Aziraphale removed himself from Crowley, eliciting a soft whimper. Crowley collapsed on the floor into a shaking, wallowing heap. Aziraphale examined him, feeling almost disgusted—but mostly with himself. He fell on top of Crowley, who have a little cry, but said nothing. Feeling the icy cold anger return to replace his worn-out lust, Aziraphale once again clasped his hand around the demon’s neck, and in his anger he let forth a strong outpour of celestial energy. Crowley shrieked in pain—but it was different from the sounds he made before that contained notes of euphoria. The angel stopped, feeling as though his own heart was ripping in two at the sound of the demon’s true suffering. 

Crowley may be a demon. He may be fallen. He may have caused the apocalypse and deserve this punishment, but Aziraphale couldn’t be the one to levy it. He had never actually killed anybody—demons included. And not only that, he realized that he was still was very, very much in love with Crowley, even if the demon betrayed him, and even if he was incapable of returning that love. 

And suddenly, Aziraphale felt hot, wetness cover his hand and wrist as the demon’s tears cascaded down in rivers. The angel didn’t move, feeling overwhelming surprise at the strong emotion pouring out of Crowley.

“I can’t bear this Aziraphale, please!” Crowley lost control of himself, the lust and hatred and self-loathing sliding away into something raw and insufferable. “Do it.”

Tears welled in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he fully let go of his grasp on Crowley.

“I can’t Crowley,” he said gently. “I…I love you too much, I’m afraid.” 

Crowley let out a small croak. He couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s love—he couldn’t feel love at all. But that, he had always supposed, was because he was unworthy of love. 

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, his whole body quivering under the weight of Aziraphale. “I need you to punish me. I need you to end me.”

“Why, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, his voice shaking with emotion. “Because you betrayed me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Crowley replied, his voice cracking. “I just…”

“You…didn’t mean to?” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Crowley shook his head no, and Aziraphale shifted his weight, turning the demon over so that they were now face to face, his white wings spread out over both of them.

“P-please, Angel,” Crowley wept. “I can’t be without you. I won’t. Please. End me now, before the w-war…”

Aziraphale’s heart softened, the chilly, reproachful anger having thawed into something warm and simmering. In that moment, he believed Crowley, utterly and absolutely. And he realized that his fear that Crowley had been plotting against him for 6,000 years was foolish. 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and he wiped the tears away before planting a gentle kiss on the hollow of his cheek. He now realized what had happened, realized that Crowley did, in fact, care for him, that it all was a terrible mistake. He saw that Crowley was both horribly ashamed and terribly, terribly afraid of what was to come. He also saw, very clearly, how much Crowley loved him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know.”

Crowley coughed, choking on the tenderness Aziraphale now showed him, and his lower lip quivered. A lump in his throat currently prevented him from speaking. 

Aziraphale drew an index finger slowly over the trembling lip, the crest of the jaw, the throat and Adam’s apple, and rested it at the soft spot of flesh just above the clavicle. He sighed deeply, looking into Crowley’s eyes, which were wide and helpless and wet with tears.

“You love me, Crowley,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a revelation, and his voice was low but melodious. 

Crowley swallowed, nodding yes, the lump still sticking in his throat and preventing speech. 

Aziraphale chuckled softly, dragging his finger down Crowley’s chest, and drawing idle pictures and words atop his skin with gentle caresses. “And here I thought you might have hated me, that you were tempting me with your wiles and toying with me. I though you had intentionally misplaced the child to trick me.”

A small yet incredulous squeak emitted from Crowley’s throat, one that said, “I would never,” and his brows furrowed with concern as he shook his head no. 

Azirapahle looked into his face, his smile soft and sweet. “I know, Crowley,” he murmured, and he shifted positions so that he now was on the ground beside Crowley, and he pulled the demon in, so that Crowley’s face was buried against his chest. 

Crowley nestled into place, feeling the soft warmth of Aziraphale envelop him, and nuzzling his face against the pliant skin. He tried to embrace the angel but was still feeling weak and shaky, so Azirapahle held him fast, his wide, heavy arms holding him tightly in place. Crowley felt safe. 

“I’m so sorry, Crowley. Did I hurt you badly?” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear, his wavering a little. Crowley shook his head no. 

“Are you sure, my dear? I need you to tell me.”

Crowley lifted his head, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. “I’m sure, Angel,” he croaked. “I—I needed that.” 

Aziraphale relaxed at hearing this. “Yes. I rather think I did as well.”

Crowley nestled back down onto Aziraphale’s chest, once again attempting to burrow himself into the angel’s warm softness. 

“But my dear, Crowley, I need to tell you something.”

Crowley grunted in response. 

“I need you to know that you are nice. Deep down, you are a little bit of a good person.”

The demon hissed, and Aziraphale could feel him tense up at the praise. 

“No, Crowley, you have to hear this. You have to listen to what I’m telling you, just this once.” Aziraphale held him tightly, not letting the demon slip away. “There is goodness in you, I can see it. I can feel it. And I need you to believe it. Can you do that for me?”

The demon squirmed, his skin prickled, and he hissed again, struggling to slither away. But soon, Crowley found that after their exertions, he was too tired to fight, too tired to reject and lash out at the praise Aziraphale now foisted upon him. He thus relaxed, letting the weight of Aziraphale’s arms calm him back into a state of euphoric relaxation. 

Aziraphale stroked his back and his hair. “There we go, Crowley. There we are,” he cooed. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I need you to know that you are just a little bit of a good person, and I thank you so much for what you’ve done for me.”

Crowley was still, letting the praise wash over him like warm, gentle rain. It refreshed him, revived him, somehow, even though every instinct wanted to reject it. 

“Are you hearing me Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, still stroking his back and head.

“I am,” Crowley responded, his voice clear with a renewed vigor. 

“That’s good,” Aziraphale purred, smiling. 

Crowley finally lifted his head, and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, finally ready to speak. 

“And you, Angel, are just enough of a bastard to be worth fucking.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also planning on doing a write of the same scene, possibly with similar themes and also rough (IDK yet), but with Crowley as a top. 
> 
> Also if you want one more chapter of this fic with soft sex next, LMK in the comments. 
> 
> If you have suggestions for how to improve my rough sex writing, let me know! I hope you enjoyed it, and like I said, if you want something softer, do check out my other works. THANKS!!!


End file.
